


All Die Young

by notsocoolio



Series: Zombiestuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Gen, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, No trolls, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsocoolio/pseuds/notsocoolio
Summary: Dave's finally leaving the nest, Rose is dealing with the grief of losing her mother, Jade's stuck on an island with only a dog for company, and John has been kicked out.Thing is, the world is full of dead people.
Relationships: Dad Egbert & John Egbert, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider & Dave Strider, Grandpa Harley | Beta Jake English & Jade Harley, John Egbert & Jade Harley & Rose Lalonde & Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde
Series: Zombiestuck [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021740
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation/longer rewrite of a oneshot i wrote for a zine, which is the first work in this series.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re all hells of tired.

You’ve been running for ten minutes now, and when you look back—yup, three corpses are still chasing after you.

You stumble a little bit, and their claws grapple for your shirt, but you push them back and flashstep as far from them as you can, before starting to run again.

You can’t keep this up for much longer, you can feel your legs giving out and your lungs are working so hard you’re starting to think they might collapse.

That would actually be pretty sweet, you think. Your lungs would fall in your chest cavity, maybe explode a bit, and you’d die before any corpses could get to you. You wouldn’t turn, at least. 

Being one of the shambling undead is the worst common denominator these days. That used to be just flat out dying, but some days that at least seems like it might be a relief.

But today isn’t one of those days, and the only thing on your mind is sheer, absolute panic as you bolt down an empty alleyway, deeply regretting not leaving the fire escape down when you left. 

You whip your head around, trying to think quickly of how to get out of this situation, when you spot a dumpster near enough to the fire escape that you could jump from it to the fire escape. 

You scramble up the dumpster just as the herd following you starts barrelling into the alleyway. 

A zombie grasps for your foot as you jump, but your hands clasp around the bars of the fire escape, and you haul yourself up, kicking away the corpse's hand in a fresh panic, yelping as it tears at your jeans. 

You pull yourself up the rest of the way onto the fire escape before flopping down onto your back, gasping for breath. Your hand clutches desperately at your shirt, feeling the heavy thud thud thud of your panicking, overworked cardiovascular and pulmonary systems. 

Eventually, you calm, your breathing and heartbeat gradually slowing down as the din of groaning corpses below you just becomes a ringing background noise. Slowly, you pull yourself to your feet, giving one last glance to the herd below you as you start to climb the ladder up to your apartment. 

Your name is Dave Strider, and today was the day you had finally chosen to leave your apartment. Had been.

It was maybe the worst day you could’ve picked, really. The clouds were brewing a storm, and the corpses were in a big kerfuffle about it, stirred up by the heavy rain and thunder that morning.

It had blissfully stopped for a bit there, around noon, allowing you to finally pack up and book it out of your apartment, trying to get out of the city before dark.

You had almost no idea where you were going to go after that, but you’d been fed up and sick of staying in an empty apartment with only a puppet and the hordes of shambling corpses around you for company.

You’d booked it once the rain let up with a half-empty backpack filled with nearly all your supplies. 

The only reason you came back was because you’d gotten chased. You’d seen a grocery store a couple blocks down that you hadn’t raided yet, and you wanted to check it out. You weren’t leaving the city without at least a full backpack, since you knew it’d be harder to get supplies once you left. 

The city was a veritable den of supplies--food, medicine, ammunition, basically anything you could think of--but it was also a den of the walking dead. No other survivors came here for just that reason, but the empty countryside would not hold the same promise, and you knew that even in your craze to leave the suffocating city.

On the one hand, you were glad you did it. You are so completely stocked up on food you probably weren’t going to be worried about it any time soon. But on the other hand, you had been chased in the opposite direction you wanted to go, and are now laying on the same goddamn fire escape you had left from. 

You’re not even sure how the corpses chased you this far! And you can still hear the fuckers underneath you, growling and whining and throwing a good ‘ol hissy fit because they couldn’t get a piece of your fine ass.

“Fuck you guys!” you yell down the ladder, but you’re so high up now you can barely even hear them. 

You pull yourself up and into your living room window from the fire escape, walk across the room, and immediately flop onto your bro’s old futon. You groan into the fabric, pressing your face into it and just lie there for a good ten minutes. 

The thing that snaps you out of your stupor, which was fully evolving into nap territory, was the sharp crack of thunder and the ensuing cacophony of a heavy downpour outside your still open window. 

You stagger up, shuffle across the living room to close the window, and then just slide against the wall and sit underneath it. You don’t even have the energy to go back to the futon.

You just kind of sit there for a few minutes before getting bored and pulling out your phone and opening up your last chat with Rose that morning before you left.

TurntechGodhead is now online! 

TurntechGodhead started pestering TentacleTherapist at 7:34! 

TG: i think im gonna leave today 

TG: you know 

TG: fly from the coop and all that TentacleTherapist is an idle chum! 

TG: actually theres no real ‘i think’ involved 

TG: im leaving today 

TentacleTherapist is no longer an idle chum! 

TT: I do not think that’s a good idea, Dave 

TT: I know it’s been hard to find food, but it’s safer in your apartment 

TG: theres not much i can do without food rose 

TG: gonna starve to death, here 

TG: this delicious bod cant starve to death, rose 

TT: Dave please be serious 

TG: no really! im out of rations and ive already skimmed the entire area 

TG: theres nothing left 

TG: jesus’s feast ended a while ago 

TG: if i had one of those magic appearifiers i could last a good long while like you 

TG: but i dont and i cant 

TT: please just be safe 

TG: dude im the safest guy out there 

TG: a cool guy like me? 

TG: the absolute safest 

TG: ive got my shitty fucking sword and im ready to rumble 

TT: But only when you need to. 

TG: yeah 

TT: Right, Dave? 

TG: yeah yeah yeah 

TG: no biggy 

TG: i aint got no reason to fight nobody 

TT: Right. 

TG: anyway 

TG: gotta talk to johnny-boy 

TG: tell him the news 

TurntechGodhead is now an idle chum! 

TT: Well good luck. 

TurntechGodhead is now online! 

TurntechGodhead started pestering TentacleTherapist at 3:34! 

TG: miss me rose? 

TT: not at all 

TG: thanks bro 

TG: anyway 

TG: got a little detoured 

TG: john was right about the roof jumping 

TT: What? 

TG: you know 

TG: like batman 

TG: jumping from roof to roof 

TG: staying up high to stay out of sight and shit 

TT: Oh. 

TT: Well I certainly think he’s correct as well. 

TT: Exactly how off track are you? 

TG: kinda got my ass chased back to my apartment and now im just chillin in my apartment 

TG: chatting with you 

TG: listening to the pouring fuckin rain outside 

TG: absolutely fuckin pooped 

TT: Well I’d imagine so after being chased whoever knows how back blocks all the way to your apartment. 

TT: How far out did you get? You left at noon, correct? 

TG: yeah 

TG: but how do you know that lalonde 

TG: you stalking me or something 

TT: Just spoke with a mutual acquaintance 

TT: Quite amazing how you can chat for four hours with one boy when you can hardly keep your attention on me or Jade for more than an hour. 

TG: yeah yeah 

TG: lets cool it on the calling me gay schtick for today lalonde 

TG: and anyway were bros of course i can shoot the shit with a bro for four hours 

TG: that shit is absolutely fuckin mutilated by the time were done 

TG: barely a speck left of that shit we were shooting 

TG: and this is at least a weekly occurrence rose 

TG: bro meetings are once weekly and all we do is shoot the shit 

TT: Let’s get back on track. How did you make such a drastic detour? 

TG: oh 

TG: well i was kinda worried about my food source 

TG: you know 

TG: like cool guys always are 

TT: I’m sure. 

TG: well then i raided this grocery store i hadnt touched in my usual runs 

TG: and i was like 

TG: this is a good idea! stock up on some food, maybe get a bite to eat for the road, all good, right? 

TT: Not good, I’m guessing. 

TG: yup 

TG: not good at all 

TT: Well, go on. 

TG: well i maybe might not have taken complete notice of some zombies inside 

TG: and so when i dropped this twinkie i wanted they all came barrelling after me 

TT: Are you okay? 

TG: fit as a fiddle darlin 

TG: except for how absolutely bone dead tired i am 

TG: but im all good now 

TT: Good. 

TT: Now, tell me more about how you being stupid almost got you killed again. 

TG: god rose 

TG: you cant just call people with no brain cells stupid 

TG: its offensive 

TT: … 

TG: i can feel you judging me 

TG: there is judgement seeping through those three small dots rose 

TG: anyway i gotta go 

TG: the rest of the story is just me being chased a couple of blocks back to my apartment 

TT: Well then. 

TG: yeah 

TG: not good 

TT: Goodbye then. You better pester me again tonight. 

TG: yeah i will 

TG: youre lucky bro made me all this tech shit 

TG: or else you wouldnt be getting all this strider ass to pester ms lalonde 

TT: I’m sure 

TT: Weren’t you supposed to be going? 

TG: oh yeah 

TurntechGodhead is now offline! 

Ugh. You should probably get up now. 

You haul yourself up from the floor, groaning with the effort as your muscles are already aching something crazy from your impromptu run this afternoon. 

Your stomach grumbles and your mouth feels absolutely parched, so you stumble into the kitchen to grab some water.

Cal greets you on the way into the kitchen, and you give the creepy-ass puppet a fist bump and a ‘hell-to-the-o bro’ before you walk your way up to the water stash in the fridge.

Your bro had hooked up some crazy shit to this apartment long before the apocalypse, and long after. Power ran through nearly the whole building from the shit your bro had built, and you were pretty impressed.

He never bothered to teach you much of it though. You knew how to make a pretty solid circuit board, and had made a pretty juvenile robot one time, but your first and only attempt at a solar panel hadn’t gone so great. 

You’re starting to think of spending the night here one last time, at least through the rain, but you also know that with these rations you’d probably never leave, and you probably wouldn’t make it back from another run to that grocery store.

You’re absolutely bone tired, but you can’t stay here. It’s a pit of sentimentality and feelings you can’t deal with, and if you stayed tonight you’d probably never leave.

You want to, but you can’t.

So you grab a glass of water, unzip your backpack and pull out a granola bar and eat it as you plan your next move. 

Rose and John want you to stay home. They might be right, but at the same time you know they aren’t. You’ll die here, you just know it.

There are so many things in this apartment that you want to bring with you. You want your turntables, you want your bro’s shitty swords, you want the roof where you used to strife, you want your dead things, your computer, your drawings, and you even want Lil Cal.

But you can’t bring it all. This is the last time you’ll be seeing the place, and there’s so many things you want, but you can’t have any of it.

Except maybe your camera. Your digital camera was small and portable. It was the first camera you’d ever gotten, and though you almost never used it, it still held a lot of sentimentality to it. 

You trek your way to your room, give a longing glance to your computer and your turntables, and grab your digital camera.

You want your good camera, the one that needs film, but you know you’ll run out and that you’ll likely never find a good dark room.

Today is just filled with disappointments, isn’t it? Maybe Rose was wrong about knowledge being all powerful.

You tuck the camera into the small pocket in the front of your backpack. 

You actually hadn’t filled this pocket with anything except a couple pencils and pens, so you think you could fit a few more things in there if you wanted. 

You think you should take some of your pictures. 

One of you and your brother, on an ironic fishing trip that you went all the way to New England for just so that you could do it right. It was really ironically fun, and even though you only caught one fish compared to your brother’s eighteen, yours was bigger than all of his.

Another was a picture of you and all your friends. John, Rose, you, and Jade. You’d never actually met them in person, but you photoshopped the hell out of this one in seventh grade. You had gotten them to all take pictures of themselves in cheesy poses, and then you sent each of them a different version of it. You kept the only good one.

The last picture was of Bro after you won your first strife in ninth grade. You were both bruised to hell, and he had apologized profusely afterward (he always tried not to hurt you), but it had been exhilarating. He was bent over, breathing hard, covering a small cut on his neck that had meant your win, and he was smiling so big. You’d never seen him smile like that before. Even the sun seemed surprised, because for the first in a long time the lighting on the roof was perfect for a good shot.

That was your favorite picture, even if you kept it from Bro, and even though it wasn’t a prize winning picture like some of your other ones. 

It was one of the last pictures you’d gotten before the apocalypse, and the last pictures you’d taken of him before he left. Before he never came back.

You shake yourself from that train of thought. Your cool-ass bro wasn’t dead, probably, and even if he was you had to keep going.

You stride out of your room and to the window, slip out onto the fire escape, and make your way up to the roof.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: John Egbert

Your name is John Egbert and you’re freaking out more than a little bit.

TG: i think todays the day to leave the nest 

TG: just wanted to let you know Your best friend is leaving the relative safety of his apartment, and you honestly have no idea what to do about it or how to help. 

EB: oh 

EB: well, good luck! You tried talking to your dad about it, asking him if the mayor would let Dave stay in their suburb, but he was skeptical and mostly useless. 

EB: i tried to ask my dad if he’d let you come out here with us. 

EB: but he was pretty useless 

TG: so a no then 

EB: yeah, pretty much. sorry dave 

TG: bro its fine i doubt id make it to washington anyway 

EB: don’t think that! 

TG: i just meant that its really far away 

TG: its kind of on the other side of the country 

TG: but thanks for the faith bro 

TG: real touched 

EB: daaave! 

EB: don’t make fun of my bro-therly concern! 

TG: lol 

TG: theres no reason to be concerned 

TG: a cool guy like me would never kick it to a couple corpses 

TG: im going down in the glory of old age like all cool guys 

EB: sure, dave 

You and your dad live in a town maintained by what’s most likely left of the government, and run by a short guy everyone calls the Mayor.

Everyone in your town is extremely grateful for the Mayor, a commanding but very quiet and kind old man that runs the town and keeps the soldiers in check. He maintains everything fairly, and everyone has a job to do. 

Yours is to be a kid and go to school like a good little boy. 

Honestly, you’re fine with it. Even if you feel a little guilty. All Jade wanted before was to go to a real school, instead of her shitty online school, and now she’ll probably never have the chance to. 

These kinds of thoughts fuck with you a lot. You always feel really guilty for being in such a good spot while all your friends are isolated or fighting for their lives.

You are fifteen and scared shitless by the world around you, and you think you’ll never be quite as brave and cool as Dave. 

But even if you tried to be cool like him and step up to work for your community, you know you’d be pretty worthless if you were to try. You’ll get better, though. Braver, maybe.

You haven’t been allowed to tell anyone about your contact with the outside world, let alone tell your friends where you live, or about the state of the place, and honestly, you aren’t sure you want to. Your town is a well-maintained, actual soldier-protected spot in America, and probably one of the last surviving ones. 

You trust your friends, but you also feel a bit useless. Dave’s fighting for his life and you’re sitting here, safe. You don’t want to admit that to them.

If you do anything besides school and sitting in your room, it’s delivering your dad’s cakes to the neighbors.

Your dad works with the mayor, so he’s pretty busy, but he always makes time to bake cakes for you and everyone else in the neighborhood. He just doesn’t have the time to drop them off, so he delegated that responsibility to you.

Normally this wouldn’t be anything. It’s maybe a five minute walk, so it’s really nothing, but today’s a bit different.

A corpse had gotten into the town recently, and your dad had needed to go to work early today because of it. You, however, had gotten a day off.

The school didn’t want to endanger any students, especially since the walker had only been sighted and not yet found. They didn’t even know if anyone had gotten bit.

Today is your neighbor’s birthday, and regardless of this, your dad thought you might be up for the task of bringing your neighbor his birthday cake.

He gave you a note before you left, just so you wouldn’t get distracted or forget on the way there what you were doing. Knowing you, it wasn’t likely to work, but there also shouldn’t be too many people out to distract you. 

You slip out the front door, and start to make your way down the street, cautiously checking everywhere and gripping your hammer tightly. You were instructed to never leave the house without a weapon months ago, and even though you’ve never had to use it, you haven’t yet broken this rule.

No one’s out on the street. It’s empty, and you start to wonder if this fear and discomfort is something like what Dave must feel, out there alone.

It’s quiet, too. You can’t hear anything coming from the houses along the street.

You turn the corner, sticking to the side of the road. There are no cars out, but you can never be too safe, you think. You’re honestly not even sure why anyone would be driving a car, if they even still had gas, but it’s a habit deeply ingrained in you.

There’s the house, just a bit down the street. It’s white, has a lot of windows. It’s no different from any other house, but right now it sticks like a beacon of safety.

You feel relieved as you make your way up to the porch.

You knock on the door.

No answer.

“Mr. Elliot?”

Silence.

You try the doorknob. You can at least try to leave it on the counter with a note.

It’s open.

You walk in, and take a relieved breath. You feel much better inside. You set the cake down on the table by the door.

“Mr. Elliot? My dad made you a cake, which must mean it’s your birthday right?”

A little shuffling from the kitchen.

“Well, uh, happy birthday Mr. Elliot! Um, why aren’t you answering? I can hear you, you know.”

You giggle a little. He’s probably messing with you. Jokes on him, you’re the pranking master.

There’s a loud bang from the kitchen.

You jump, “Mr. Elliot?!”

The banging continues. This isn’t funny anymore.

You step further into the hallway, making sure to take off your shoes and leave them by the door, along with your hammer.

Your heart thumps as you make your way to the kitchen. You can hardly hear anything over the loud banging from the kitchen. You can’t help but think that this probably isn’t a joke. You force yourself to think otherwise.

As you step into the kitchen, you find that the sound is coming from the bathroom off the kitchen. Your house has one just like it.

Dad always said it was in a weird spot.

“Mr. Elliot, this isn’t—“

The door slams open, and Mr. Elliot comes crashing out, falling over himself in a tangle of limbs.

He’s snarling and growling, snapping his teeth like a wild dog.

You take a step back. You can see the bloody bite on his neck, and your heart stops.

He lunges at you. 

You scream, throwing yourself to the side, trying to run back down the hall towards the door, away from the snarling corpse of your neighbor.

He grabs one of your legs and you fall in a heap, trying to kick him off of you and get up again. He just grabs at you, opening his mouth, rotten teeth snapping, trying to take a bite.

“No!” you scream, flipping it over, trying to hold its face back, keep its teeth away from you.

It pulls itself up further, pressing its rotting body over you, trying to pin you down for a better bite.

You try to hold it back, but you can’t, your stomach retching and body recoiling from the rancid smell of its rotting flesh.

“Stop, please!” you scream, desperate, “Dad!”

You scream for help, you don’t know what to do, you can’t keep this up, he can’t be _dead_. It’s one bite!

I can’t kill a man! you think.

But it's not a man anymore, your instincts tell you as your free hand starts to scramble for anything to hit it with.

You can’t kill someone, your brain tells you as you shove it away, grasping for the hammer you left at the door.

This isn’t a person, you think.

He’s not there anymore. It’s nothing but a corpse, devoid of morals, devoid of life. It will stop at nothing to kill you.

So you kill it. You swing the hammer at the corpse’s head as hard as you can.

Its body crashes into the wall, and it pauses, as if stunned, only for long enough that you’re able to get up before it’s reaching for you again.

You stomp on its chest, restricting its movement. Your mind is blank, filled with only adrenaline screaming at you to kill it, kill it!

You flip the hammer around in your hand, slamming it into the zombie’s head, the claw crashing into its skull, bone shattering under your hand. Blood and bits of brain splatter everywhere.

You stop to breathe.

It twitches.

You slam the hammer into its head again, making the mess only bigger, but this time you’re sure it's dead.

You’re panting, trying to breathe, but your instincts are telling you that it isn’t dead--that you have to kill it! But you know, logically, that it is dead, as you stare into what’s left of its face.

This used to be your neighbor. It’s not anymore.

This is what the world has to offer now.

The adrenaline leaves your body slowly, and you fall to your knees.

You sit there, staring blankly at the corpse, just breathing, until the door opens.

You look up, you don’t know how long it's been.

It’s your dad. 

You’re shaking.

He walks up to you, slowly. Almost as if he’s scared of you. 

You wouldn’t blame him.

“John…” he has that voice, the one that he uses when he’s worried about you, like that time you broke your wrist, or maybe closer to the time he had to tell you why you’d never see your mom again.

Your face feels wet.

You aren’t talking, but when you open your mouth and try, it doesn’t work. All that comes out is a choked sob.

He falls to his knees, and grasps you, holding you close.

You freak out for a moment, feeling the corpse over your body again before you remember that it’s dead. 

You lean into him, comforted by his warmth, completely different from the cold, dead grasp of the corpse. 

His shoulder’s soaking wet by the time you stop crying, and by then he’d already carried you all the way home.


End file.
